


In Plain Sight

by abundantlyqueer



Series: Kissing Boys [6]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-31
Updated: 2003-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four pictures of Elijah and Orlando, who have agreed to be completely discreet, discreet as the grave, all the time and always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Happens concurrently with or very soon after the events of "Momentum".

#1

A pounding backbeat and a grinding melody like a triumphantly breaking heart floods the dance floor. Strobe lights flicker on the curling waves of smoke overhead and the writhing bodies below, turning motion into a staccato lantern slide show. Elijah and Orlando, buried in the middle of the crowd, dance facing each other with maybe a foot of empty space between their bodies. Orlando's eyes are closed, wrists crossed above his shorn head, the whipcord muscles of his shirtless torso picked out in high relief by the alternation between harsh white light and pitch dark. His narrow denim-clad hips describe fluid figures of eight, thigh muscles working with each shift of his weight. Elijah, his black button down shirt hanging open and exposing a broad swath of his smooth pale chest, moves in a spikier and more energetic way, hips jumping right on the beat even when it skips and trips and tries to throw him off. Laughing into the storm of noise around him, he reaches out and sets his hand on the blade of Orlando's hipbone, right where skin and denim meet. Connected, they each adjust their rhythm slightly, both moving with something of Orlando's languorous grace as well as Elijah's rapturous energy.

"Look a'that," Billy says in mock disgust to Dom, leaning beside him on the bar overlooking the dance floor. "Pair o'tarts can'na even keep their clothes on. If they don' watch out, they're gonna ge' picked up by a couple o'sailors."

"Yeah, well, they'll get thrown back again pretty quick," Dom muses, making patterns in the head of his beer with his forefinger. "They just look like a coupla fags."

Billy snorts beer.

"Ye'better no'let them hear yeh sayin' that," he grins. "Ye'll ge'yer arse kicked. Ah think they're both a wee bit sensitive about the lack o' manly good looks."

#2

"I thought we'd agreed -- none of exactly this kind of shit," Orlando hisses urgently, backing away from Elijah until he feels the edge of the toilet seat against his calves.

"It's not a public place, it's a private house," Elijah says quickly, moving right in close to Orlando.

"Yeah but it's Viggo's private house, not yours or mine," Orlando counters. "And it's got like a hundred people in it right now."

"I know -- awesome party," Elijah grins, giving Orlando a little shove right in the middle of his tee-shirt covered chest.

Orlando sits down hard on the toilet seat cover and Elijah looms over him.

"We said only places with a lock on the door," Orlando insists, trying to fend Eliajh's hands off as Elijah reaches for Orlando's belt buckle.

"It's got a lock."

"You didn't use it."

"Ah -- whatever," Elijah shrugs, giving up on dodging Orlando's broadly splayed fingers to get to the belt buckle and reaching instead for Orlando's head.

"We said … never if the other hobbits are within like … a thousand miles, or something," Orlando manages, as Elijah's hands mold themselves to the delicate contours of Orlando's skull.

Elijah's eyes grow hooded, his fingers moving slowly over the rough prickle of third-day stubble coming through Orlando's shaved scalp.

"They're downstairs," he murmurs.

"Oh, that's okay then," Orlando breathes, shivering under Elijah's touch and letting his hand drift, drift towards the back of Elijah's thigh.

"Oh sorry!" Billy chirps as he comes through the door and stops dead. "I thought -- oh! It's you wankers. Wha' are yeh doin'? Examinin' his feckin' razor burn? When yer done feelin' his head, yeh weird bastard, Ah need tah take ah piss."

#3

"Oh man," Elijah pants, throwing one black neoprene covered arm over his eyes to shade them from the beating sun. "I can feel the fluid getting squeezed out of me."

"You better drink some water," Dom says mildly, his attention mostly on his book.

"You better get out of the wetsuit," Astin says more firmly.

"No way," Elijah murmurs, shifting slightly to arrange himself more comfortably where he's reclining on the sand. "Too much work. I'm gonna live and grow old and die in this thing."

"Then drink some water," Dom says again, without much hope of Elijah's paying any attention.

Orlando, his own wetsuit stripped down to his hips, steps around Elijah's prone form and sits down cross-legged next to Elijah's head. He lifts his water bottle to his own mouth, tipping his chin up and stretching the long line of his throat as he drinks.

"Oh -- water -- water," Elijah croaks in pantomimed desperation.

Orlando's mouth curls mischievously. He takes the water bottle away from his lips and leans forward over Elijah's face. Elijah opens his mouth, tongue lolling to represent extremities of thirst. Orlando purses his lips and spews out a small stream of water, some of which goes into Elijah's gaping mouth, but most goes into Elijah's ear or up Elijah's nose as Elijah splutters and laughs.

"Guys -- that's kinda disgusting," Dom complains half-heartedly.

"It's unhygienic," Astin adds. "Elijah, you've no idea where Orli's mouth has been."

"Hey, Bloom," Billy crows. "You've got a rotten sun-burn -- yer whole face has gone red."

"Goddamnit, Elijah," Astin grumbles, as Elijah rolls hastily into an upright sit, coughing until the tears run down his cheeks. "Are you choking? That was such a stupid stunt."

#4

"Y'know Elijah," Billy observes, popping the tab on a fresh beer can from the cooler and stretching himself out on the grass, "it doesn'ah matter if yeh can do tha' or not. Peter's no'goin' t'let Frodo start twangin' off arrows like an elf -- a very short fuckin' elf."

"Boyd, give it a rest," Orlando warns quietly from his station just behind Elijah.

"I don't care," Elijah answers Billy, without taking his eyes off the target set about thirty feet away. "I just want to learn."

He lifts the bow in his hands, arrow already notched to the bowstring, draws it back, then pauses.

"Careful," Orlando says gently. "You're locking out that elbow again."

He moves in close behind Elijah, one hand on Elijah's left elbow to illustrate his remark. His other hand goes to Elijah's right wrist, so that Elijah's back and shoulders are effectively encircled by Orlando's arms.

"Just let it go a tiny bit. And keep the other wrist strong, don't let it flex back. You shouldn't feel the stretch anywhere except in your right shoulder and upper arm," Orlando says.

"I love you," Elijah murmurs, eyes still locked on the target.

"What's your sightline like?" Orlando says blandly, dipping his head so he's just looking over the top of Elijah's mess of dark hair, gazing towards the target with narrowed eyes.

"Mutual," Orlando whispers, his mouth dragging warm and slow over an inch of jumping skin at the back of Elijah's ear.

Elijah shivers and leans back a little, letting his ass rest against the planes of Orlando's pelvis and thighs.

"I can't get comfortable -- there's something in the way," Elijah complains conversationally, shifting his weight from foot to foot and dragging his ass from side to side across the rapidly growing ridge of Orlando's erection.

"Are yew two fuckin' dancin'?" Billy yowls impatiently. "Elijah, fire the feckin' arrow so we can all go home."


End file.
